


Heart of Lightning: A Roswellian Tale

by suzteel



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, Knight AU, Minor Character Death, Temporary Character Death, background/implied alex/forrest, background/implied michael/alex, background/implied michael/maria, jesse manes doesn't actually make an appearance but he's mentioned a lot, no major characters die in this who haven't died in canon, so general warning for his existence, this is liz's story and a little bit rosa's but there's stuff going on in the background
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:55:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28132029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suzteel/pseuds/suzteel
Summary: When Ser Elizabeth Ortecho of the Roswellian Court is sent by Queen Isobel to retrieve the heart of the missing King Maxwell from a fearsome lightning dragon guarding it, she knows success could bring her one step closer to completing a quest of her own. Ten years ago, a mage named Ophiuchus curse her sister with eternal slumber, and Liz has been searching for him ever since. Saving the king could be the key to learning Ophiuchus's true identity and saving Rosa.But the dragon is not what it appears to be. Soon Liz finds herself needing to guard her heart from feelings forgotten long ago as she and her friends journey back to Roswell, King Max by their side, with more than just the fate of Rosa hanging in the balance. For Ophiuchus's plans are bigger and more dangerous than any of them realize.
Relationships: Liz Ortecho & Rosa Ortecho, Max Evans/Liz Ortecho
Comments: 24
Kudos: 8
Collections: Roswell New Mexico Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic would absolutely not have happened if not for the Cowboys and their constant love and encouragement. I especially want to thank maxortecho, wunderlass, angsty_nerd, and queenrikki. This would not be what it is without all your cheerleading and handholding. Thank you so much! <3 
> 
> And I have to give extra special thanks to wunderlass for being a wonderful and patience beta. And of course, so many thank yous to christchex for creating such [lovely artwork and accompanying playlist](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/RoswellNewMexicoBigBang/works/28165458). Thank you Christi!

Heavy fog swirls all around her. Thick. Gray. Endless. She is unsure how long she’s been here. She doesn’t think it matters. Time doesn’t exist here. There is no day, no night. Just gray. She drifts through it as if in a dream, limbs weighted, slow. She thinks perhaps it is a dream. An unnatural dream. Too long. Trapped. 

The fog is not always gray. Sometimes she can make out faint ribbons of color—pinks and greens—gently swirling in the mist. She feels near waking then. More aware. More alive. Something exists beyond the fog. The lights lead her toward a destination without a name. 

A name. What _is_ her name? What was she before she was in this place? She doesn't know. She doesn’t know how to answer when the voice whispers around her, lilting and songlike. “What’s your name?”

“I don’t know,” she calls out. Her own voice is weak, throat dry from disuse. “Who—who are you? Where am I?”

“What’s your name? Why are you here?” The whisper repeats and repeats, layering over itself like an echo. Already fading. 

She calls again. “Where are you? Where is here? I don’t know where I am. Help me!” The whisper is but a memory of sound now, and the energy required to speak is leaving her. 

The fog grows heavy and darkness encompasses her once again. 

~*~ 

Ser Elizabeth Ortecho, daughter of Arturo Ortecho and a renowned Knight of the Roswellian Court, approaches the cave on foot, searching the skies for any sign of clouds. The local villagers claim the dragon within could call forth rain on even the clearest of days, but Ser Liz reasons it will take longer if the weather was fair and clear. It is why she’s waited until today before making her approach. 

If nothing else, a sudden gathering of clouds should warn her if the dragon stirs within. 

She slows her steps at the entrance of the cave, scanning the sky once more before turning her full attention to the craggy opening, watching for any sign of motion. If the dragon slumbers, perhaps she can retrieve the king’s heart without having to fight him. It is a faint hope, and likely one shared by the dozen who had come before her. It will likely not be that easy. 

She has waited nearly a fortnight since arriving at the village for a day as clear as this to come, her patience wearing thin, as she’s never been one for holding still too long. And after the long months of searching for the dragon prophesied to guard the king’s heart, the delay has been nigh unbearable. She’s already waited longer than any who had come before, nearly ten years for a chance like this one to arise. Ten years of a sister cursed with eternal slumber. Ten years of their father’s grief and waning hope. But now here was finally a chance to fulfill the oath she had sworn a decade ago: to wake Rosa and free her from her curse. 

She draws her sword as she enters, the morning sunlight gleaming across its polished metal surface. It’s the only piece of metal she carries. 

Metal attracts lightning. 

The entrance is perhaps three yards wide and twice that in height—too narrow, she thinks, for the dragon to fly through. He would have to fold his wings to navigate the narrowness of the entrance tunnel, which should give her some advantage should she need to flee quickly, though she would have little time to find cover. The tree line is yards away. If it comes to it, she will need to make her stand here before he has a chance to take to the skies. 

The width of the cave, however, does allow for the morning light to reach far enough to see the beginning of its northeastern bend. It is several yards in. She was told that the cavern where the dragon resided is only a couple hundred yards within, and is dimly lit owing to multiple cracks in the cavern ceiling. Until she reaches the cavern though, the sunlight is all she has—it’s too risky to use a torch or lantern. She keeps close to the easternmost wall, heedful that the sunlight could also be her enemy if it silhouettes her against its glow. She steps slowly and carefully to avoid kicking any of the loose rocks scattered about the ground. Here and there she notes the white glint of bone, unnerving despite the knowledge that they are not human. This dragon apparently prefers to flaunt his kills, dropping the burnt corpses of those who had come before her not too far from the village cemetery—a warning to those who seek to steal from him.

There is some comfort knowing should she fail in her task, her father will at least be able to mourn her properly—unlike her sister, who is neither alive nor dead, but both and neither. Those who love her are similarly trapped, forever grieving and unable to move on. 

Liz’s slow pace through the tunnel allows her eyes to adjust to the dim light, but even so once she rounds the first curve, the sunlight struggles to penetrate the dark. She presses herself against the wall, straining to hear as she closes her eyes for a few moments, letting her vision adapt further. When she opens them again, her widened pupils take in every scrap of light they can, allowing her to observe the way the ground slopes and becomes more uneven deeper into the cave. Fortunately there also seems to be less debris for her to accidentally stumble upon. 

She begins back down the passageway and makes it only a few paces further before she becomes aware of the sound—a gentle rhythmic rush, something like wind, emanating from somewhere ahead. Breathing. Dragon’s breath. She’s close. 

Rounding the next bend reveals sunlight again, the roof here weak and broken in places with light slipping through the various cracks, illuminating the place in bright uneven patches. Ahead she sees the way the passageway gives way to a large cavern. She can not yet see the dragon, but the ever increasing volume of its steady breathing tells her she has reached its lair. 

Pressing herself once again against the tunnel wall, she creeps forward, sword posed, until she can see the far wall across from her. No dragon. No motion at all. She scans the empty space for any sign of her intended prize. She knows not what form the king’s heart will be in, if it’s encased within a vessel or merely protected by magic, but she hopes it will be easy enough to identify and retrieve. And hopes as well that it would give some clue as to where to find its owner, as none have seen the king since his capture. 

_Lightning travels on dragon wing_   
_And guards the heart of absent king_   
_Allegiance to Ophiuchus owed_   
_To reverse spell magic bestowed_   
_Heart to body restored must be_   
_For royal bearing again to see_

Maria’s words echo again in Liz’s mind, much as they had the day she uttered them. Ophiuchus. Finally, after nearly a decade of silence, of no sightings or real clues as to his whereabouts, mere whispers and rumors leading nowhere, the mage who cursed her sister has resurfaced. Finally, here is her chance to learn his true identity and force him to reverse the curse. 

First she must save her king. Max. A man she’d known since childhood. A man she had also once thought to call her lover. 

Focusing her attention back to the cave and seeing nothing ahead of her, Liz peers around the other side of the cavern, careful to stay hidden. There, against the far wall, is the dragon.

Her breath catches. 

He is beautiful. Black as night, a looming shadow in the dim light, so unlike the coppers and reds of those she’d encountered before, though it’s scales gleam with the same kind of metallic shine common to such creatures. He is not large as dragons go, perhaps only four yards from his snout to the start of his tail, equal in length to his body as it curls around him in sleep. One wing is folded tight against his side, but the other lay slightly unfurled, a pale beam of sunlight catching it’s underside, revealing the most striking iridescent glow of reds and blues and purples. 

For a moment, Liz just stares, taking in the sight, watching the gleaming ripples of his body with each breath he took. Then she spots it, a small box tucked beneath his wing and laying just beside one large clawed foot. 

Her eyes skim the space around him, but she sees nothing else. If Max’s body is here, it is well concealed. She spots no other passages leading into the cavern. 

She returns her gaze to the box and considers her options. Killing the dragon in his sleep is out of the question, going against every code and oath Liz had sworn as a Knight of Roswell. If she manages to retrieve the box without waking the dragon, she won’t have the ability to search the rest of the cavern. She will have to plan for the dragon to follow her if it awakes. Lie in wait within the tunnel where he won’t be able to maneuver easily, and strike when he moves to follow her. Dragons are not often kind to thieves, and this one is aligned with a powerful mage. Her best chance at survival is not waking him. 

She studies the ground before her, choosing her path carefully. There can be no mistakes. No kicked rocks, no tripping in a divot of the ground. When she steps out from behind the cave wall, it is with both care and surety, knowing any hesitation could be her doom, grateful for her foresight to wear only padded armor instead of her full plate. No sound of clanking metal to betray her, only the softest whisper of leather creaking, hidden behind the rushing of the dragon's steady breaths. 

She haunches down as she gets close, laying her sword gently down beside her, and reaches for the box. It lifts easily, lightweight. Too easily. The hairs on Liz’s body lift, muscles going tense, as she notes the changed rhythm of the dragon’s breaths even as she looks up at its head—

And finds herself staring directly into one large golden eye. 

Time freezes. As the two of them stare at one another, Liz finds herself startled by the unexpected expression of pain and sadness glimpsed within that eye, so human-like. Familiar. As if she’s stared into these same eyes before. The moment passes almost as soon as it begins, the eye turning hard and cold as the dragon lifts his head to let out a deafening roar. He swipes at Liz with one claw, catching her about the middle and sending her flying, box and sword clattering on the stone floor. 

Thunder trembles throughout the cavern, and Liz rolls toward where her sword lies, lurching to her feet and snatching it up in one smooth motion as the dragon lets out a burst of lightning, so bright it nearly blinds her. She charges in, still able to make out the dragon’s size and shape despite her near-blindness, aiming her sword for the exposed chest as she ducks beneath an unfurling wing when the dragon makes for his feet. The opening is brief but she doesn’t hesitate, fearless as she lunges, plunging her sword with all her might deep into his chest. He screams, lightning bolts hurling across the cavern every which way. She twists the sword in place to ensure it pierces the heart before rolling across the floor away from him. 

He rears back, claws scrambling with the sword, dislodging it with a stream of blood gushing with it to the ground. He screams again, another shower of sparks alighting the space while Liz hefts herself to her feet and rushes toward where the box lies, the hairs of her body giving her the merest warning as she dodges a lightning bolt. It still strikes near enough to throw her off her feet again, and she lands hard, a large rock cutting into her side as she clutches the box protectively. 

How does the dragon still stand? How could she have missed its heart, failing to deliver the killing blow and losing her weapon in the process? Her thoughts whirl as the dragon advances, and she struggles to her feet again, trying to judge the distance between herself and the cave entrance. Her sword is too far away now and would take her further into the cave, but if she can get outside, perhaps she can find something else to use as a weapon. Her knife will do her little good against the dragon’s thick hide. 

The air crackles again, and her hair stands on end. The dragon spreads its wings in preparation for another blow, their iridescent webbing glowing that strange mixture of reds and blues, a match for the faint glow she just now notices emanating from the box in her hand. A match—Liz sprints toward the cave’s tunnel before the thought can complete in her mind. 

As predicted, the narrowness of the tunnel slows the dragon’s pursuit, giving her time to gain ground, but it is not long, only a few precious moments as she clears the entrance and darts to one side. Where not an hour ago, not a cloud marred the morning sky, now it is gray and rain drenched Liz’s skin. She opens the box, hope and bewilderment blooming in her chest, and takes in the sight before her—a heart glowing unnatural blue and red. She takes it in her hand, and feels its power, how it still beats, a living thing within her grasp. Takes in its size and iridescent color. This is not a human heart she’s holding. 

_To body restored live-giver must be for royal bearing again to see._ Liz recalls the beast’s sad brown eyes and being briefly struck with their humanity, their familiarity. Familiar because she’d gazed into their depths many a time before. And her blow failed to kill the creature because there had been no heart to pierce. Because the dragon—

Bursts from the cave entrance, and Liz has no more time to think or question. She launches herself once again beneath its belly and thrusts her hand, heart still grasped firmly within it, into the gaping wound in the dragon’s chest. Searing white-hot pain lances through her body with electric shock and the dragon’s answering bellow shakes her entire body until suddenly there is no more sound or sight or feeling as everything around her goes black. 

~*~ 

The fog is thinning now and crackling with energy. Gentle sparks kiss her bare skin as she moves through the mist, vivid colors swirling through the gray in ribbons of light. Blues and purples join the greens and pinks, moving with purpose and direction now. Guiding her ever nearer to their unknown destination. 

She follows the lights as the haze becomes more and more transparent, revealing solid walls around her. As she continues down the path of color, she begins to note runes and symbols painted upon the stone walls, growing in frequency until eventually the walls widen into a small cavern where the ribbons of color twist and dance amongst glittering paintings lining every surface from ceiling to floor. 

A dark-haired woman dressed white and black fur robes stands in the center of the room. The woman turns as she enters and smiles at her, the expression filling her whole face, the twinkle in her eyes enhanced by the beauty mark beneath the left one. The woman is about her age, or what she assumes her age to be is. 

When the woman speaks, she recognizes the voice that had been whispering to her within the fog. “Ah. You finally found your way. What’s your name, sorceress?” 

She remembers. “Rosa. My name is Rosa.” 


	2. Chapter 2

Liz awakens in bed, sunlight filtering through a small nearby window. Her leather armor is gone, replaced with a simple sleeping gown, and her injured right arm is bandaged. She can feel the skin tug and ache beneath the cloth when she moves it, but as she sits up she feels no other aches. She runs her hands over unblemished skin, lacking even scars to mark where she had been injured. Her wonderment soon gives way to panic. How long had she slept? Had it worked? Had Max—

King Maxwell of Roswell walks into the room, head ducking though the doorframe. He’s carrying a tray laden with a pitcher and some food. He looks up at her as he enters, eyes meeting hers.

Her breath catches. 

It has been nearly five years since Liz was last in a room with the king, with her obligations and personal quest for Ophiucus keeping her frequently away from court. She had forgotten his effect on her. The way his presence extends out beyond the space already taken up by his tall, broad body in a way that she finds impossible to ignore. Like the warmth of a fire on a cold night, it invites Liz to draw closer, to wrap herself up in its heat. Tempting, but dangerous should she get too close. 

His hair is longer than when she had last seen him, brushed back from his forehead so that it curls around his ears and neck. It suits him, and suspects that if he keeps it this way it will start a new trend amongst the noblemen of the court, who favor shorter styles these days. It is his eyes, though, which capture and hold her attention. The same familiar honey gold eyes which had apparently been recognizable to her even within the form of a beast, now alight with a warmth she feels throughout her entire body. She had forgotten the way his eyes on hers made her stomach swoop, more unsettling than even she felt facing her first battle. 

“You’re awake,” he says, the first to break the tension filling the room. His voice is deep from misuse, and Liz feels a shiver run through her, the sound of it like a physical sensation. 

“And you’re alive.” She hopes he mistakes her breathlessness for having just awoken. 

“Thanks to you. Always knew you would save my life one day.” Liz smiles at the nostalgic confidence in his voice. He’s been saying it since they were young, when Liz was but a squire training the court, her skills having caught the attention of the royal household. On her third day at the castle, she’d come across a boy sitting alone reading a book in one of the garden courtyards. Something about him seemed lonely to her, and Liz had sat beside him and started talking, asking about what he was reading and telling him of her first days as a squire. She told the boy that she was going to be one of the greatest knights Roswell had ever seen and save so many people from terrible monsters. The boy had nodded and grinned at her, proclaiming “You will save _my_ life one day!” She did not know then that the boy was the Prince of Roswell, but he has been saying it ever since. 

“I was told a dragon needed slaying,” she teases, the memory relaxing her. “Turns out I only had to return its heart.” 

He laughs, the movement causing one lock of hair to fall across his forehead. She fights the urge to reach out and push it back into place. “And did you?” he asks. 

“Did I slay a dragon?”

“Did you return my heart? Or have you merely ensured it will always be yours, safe within my keeping?”

Her heart skips. Another memory, this one of a bright summer day, when a young prince took her out to the desert to practice sparring in the rocky terrain, and ended the day asking for permission to court her. She felt then as she did now. Exhilarated. Terrified. She’d faced many dangers as a knight, both in search of Ophiuchus and in the service to the throne—first for King Evans, then for Max. She’d learned over the years how to confront stark terror in the face of almost certain death against monsters and overwhelming odds, learned to be unflinching in the face of them. But the way Max Evans made her feel eclipsed them all. Her bravery abandoned her in the face of it. She felt posed at the edge of a cliff, and the urge to jump frightened her in a way no monster or army could ever could. 

It had been the same day she came home to a sleeping Rosa who never awoke. The same day she swore an oath to not rest until she found the person responsible and broke the curse. An oath which took her far away from Roswell, and away from Max and the overwhelming way he made her feel.

Sometimes she wondered if she would have always run. 

Max spares her having to respond, seeming to sense the awkwardness caused by his teasing. He clears his throat. “How is your arm?” 

Keeping focused on the task at hand and not on her feelings is something Liz is good at. “It’s fine. My other injuries? How long have I been asleep for?”

“Not long, just over a day. Here,” he says, pouring her a cup of water. “Drink.” 

She takes the cup and drains it, suddenly aware of how parched she is. She lets him pour her another, admonishing her to drink more slowly, which she does. 

“You healed me,” she says, handing the cup back. It is not a question. Liz is among the few who know of the king’s power to heal, though rumors abound aplenty given the number of his knights and subjects who have miraculously survived terrible injuries. King Evan had strongly discouraged his son’s use of magic, worried that fear of it would cause distrust among the people of Roswell, but since his passing it seemed Max found it hard to deny aid when it could be given. 

“What I could,” he answers. “The arm—magical injuries have always been more difficult. It will heal, but it’ll leave a scar. A token of your heroism.” He ducks his head, and when he speaks again his voice is small. “I’m sorry. For attacking you. I didn’t—I was—”

Liz doesn’t resist the urge to reach out this time, covering his fidgeting hands with one of hers. “Can you tell me what it was like?” she asks. “Your curse?”

“Darkness. Rage. Like a tornado within me, taking all reason and sense, leaving only the will and need to kill. I couldn’t control it. Whenever someone got close to my heart—I—the rage was all I felt. I couldn’t—” He turns his hand in hers to clasp it, and when his eyes meet hers, there are unshed tears in them. “I would have killed you, Liz, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.” 

“But you didn’t,” she assures him. Her throat is tight; she could have killed him as well. “I’m here. I’m alive.” The look he gives her then, watery eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude, awe and pain, stops her heart and starts it immediately racing all over again. She resists another urge to pull him close, to stroke her hand through his hair and clasp him to her body, offering comfort. Taking solace as well. She’d nearly lost, and it would have been by her own hand. She pushes the thoughts away, attempting to stay focused on the task at hand. She’s better at that. “Your Majesty, what about before you were cursed? What do you remember? Did you see Ophicuhus? Can you tell me who he is?” 

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I never saw his face. Or if I did, I don’t remember it.”

Frustrated disappointment lances through her, as sharp as the lightning had. She was so close. “What _do_ you remember? From after you were captured?” 

“Not much. I remember the battle. I think I took a blow to the head. Then I was in this strange room. There were symbols on the walls, but I—” His eyes close, trying to remember. “Everything is hazy, blurred bits of color. There was chanting, but I couldn’t make out the words. And then I was in that cave, and I was something else.” When his eyes open they avoid hers, dropping back to their clasped hands. “I don’t remember much of that either. The villagers, they—they say I killed eleven people.” 

They were knights; death was a part of their vocation. Both she and Max have taken lives to protect the kingdom and others. But she understands his grief. These were not enemies upon a field of battle, but innocent villagers or fellow knights trying to help. “That wasn’t you. That was the curse. Whatever Ophicuhus did to you, you are not responsible for those deaths. He is.” She doubts her words bring much comfort, knowing him as she does, but they need to be said nonetheless

“I don’t even remember all of them. _Most_ of them. Even in battle—I remember the faces of the men I killed. Who I lost. Who I couldn’t save. But I can’t—the not remembering. It’s worse.” 

A thought occurs to her. “Do you remember bringing them to the village?”

His head jerks up, surprised and confused. He shakes his head.

“The dragon— _you_ —would lay them right outside the cemetery. Before I believed it to be a taunt. A warning. But now…” She lets her words hang. 

They sit in silence as he thinks, confusion fading into sad realization. “They deserved to be buried. Their families deserved that.” 

“Even cursed, you brought them home. So they could be laid to rest with their families. So they would have closure.” It’s something her own family has been denied for so long. “That is who you are, Max. Ophiuchus’s magic killed those men, and you brought them home.” He still doesn’t look like he entirely believes her, but he nods regardless. He will carry the weight of those deaths for the rest of his life, she thinks, as he has with others in the past. It is who he is. It is what makes him a good ruler—and a better man. It’s why she—

Liz pulls herself up, reminding herself again of her purpose here. Roswell needs its king, and she has her oath. She shakes away the feelings stirring within her. “Ophiuchus is responsible for their deaths,” she repeats for good measure, a decade of anger strengthening her voice. “But we need to stop him before he does something like this again. You said you saw symbols when you were captured. Can you remember them? Draw them perhaps? If we got them back to Maria perhaps she will recognize a few of them.” Everything Liz knows about Ophiuchus, Maria knows and more. 

Lady Maria is one of Liz’s best friends. She is also a seeress, from a line of seeresses. While it was Queen Isobel who officially sent Liz to seek out the lightning dragon, it was Maria’s prophetic powers which told Liz how to find Max and defeat the curse. Maria is the only reason Liz even knows who cursed Rosa in the first place, Maria’s first vision manifesting from her grief. She is as close as a sister to both Liz and Rosa, and one of the few people Liz trusts completely. She is also incredibly knowledgeable about magic, both having grown up with a mother and grandmother with the sight and other magics, as well as having delved deeply into the magical arts on her own to try to find a way to break Rosa’s curse. At least half of Liz’s quests in search of a cure have been retrieving old books or objects Maria suspected might help find them answers. If Max could remember some of those symbols, perhaps one of those many books will tell them what to do next. Maria had been so certain rescuing Max would lead them to Ophiuchus, more certain than she has ever been. He must have some clue as to who he was or where they could find him.

Hope blooms again in Liz’s chest when Max nods. “I think I can remember a few of them. Not all of them, most were hazy. But I could try. There’s one I remember more clearly than the rest—I think perhaps I’ve seen it before.”

“Good. The elderman should be able to provide you with ink and paper. You should get what you remember down now, while it’s still fresh. We’ll bring some with us as well, should you remember more on the way back to Roswell.” 

She rises from the bed. She needs to dress and begin preparing for the journey back. Max averts his eyes away from her thinly clad form even as he protests. “You should rest a few more days. You nearly died yesterday.” 

“So did you,” she begins and stops, examining Max much more closely. Her sword had fully impaled his chest just yesterday, but she can see no injury or bandage, though the overlarge borrowed shirt he wears might be concealing it. “I injured you as well. How are you feeling?”

Max’s hand comes up to brush against the spot almost involuntarily, though he quickly aborts the motion. “I’m fine. It’s mostly healed already.” 

Liz considers that, wondering how much she can trust his judgment. Max is almost as stubborn as she is, and like her, very likely to downplay his own pain. “May I see it?” 

After the slightest of hesitations, he nods and reaches down to lift his shirt. As the flat plane of his stomach is revealed, Liz silently curses at herself, aware of her own folly. She is no stranger to men, having seen many of her fellow knights in all forms of undress and having shared her bed with a few of them as well, but the last she’d seen _Max_ in such a state, they had been but children. The expanse of toned muscle now exposed to her eyes brings the smallest of stutters to her breath, and she feels a gentle itching within her hands to touch and explore the skin bared before her. She is also suddenly utterly aware of her own state of near undress. 

Her breath stops for an entirely different reason as Max uncovers the jagged wound above where his newly restored heart lies. He hadn’t lied to her. The skin is still red and puckered around the edges, but it appears to be healing quickly and without infection. It isn’t the condition of the wound which creates the hard knot within her stomach though, but its size. There is no denying what it is—the scarred remnants of a sword plunged deep into his chest. If it weren’t for the curse, he would have never survived such an injury.

And Liz is the one who gave it to him. 

She reaches her hand out, but stops just short of touching, letting the tips of her fingers hover above the puckered skin. “Does it hurt?”

“I’ve dealt with worse.” He takes her hand in his again, pulling her in gently until both their hands rested against his chest, beneath where the wound is. “You _saved_ me, Liz. Nothing I feel now compares to the agony I felt while trapped within that form. You gave me back my heart—and my soul. This wound is nothing in comparison.” 

Her gaze rises slowly from where their hands connect them, between her bandaged arm and his wounded chest, up to his face. When her eyes meet his, the sincerity and tenderness within their honey warmth threatens to undo her. She can only hold them for a moment before she has to look away, her gaze settling now on his lips, so close to hers now. She feels her body begin to sway when he says softly, “You’ll save Rosa too.” 

The moment shatters. Liz remembers who and where they are. She drops her hand away from his and again begins to search for her clothes and armor. 

“If we are both well enough to travel, we shouldn’t delay beyond a day. The queen will be eager to see you, and we are too close to the border here.” Her armor is stacked carefully in the corner, and lifting the lid of the trunk at the end of the bed reveals her clothes. “When I left Roswell, Jesse Manes’s men were attempting to advance from the northwest, but if he somehow hears of your return, we shouldn’t risk staying here too long. We still don’t know for sure if Ophiuchus is helping him or not. The reports have been inconsistent.” 

She glances back over to Max, but he just shakes his head, looking resigned. “I’ll leave you to get dressed and eat. We can leave in the morning.” 

As he leaves, Liz almost feels like a piece of her goes with him, but she quickly shakes off the feeling. She dresses and begins to carefully inspect her armor for damages, checking for weaknesses, feeling as if she’ll need its protection more than ever in the coming days. In more ways than one. 

~*~ 

Halfway into their journey back to Roswell, they sight the brightly colored flags bearing the Royal Sigil in the distance. As they grow nearer, a cry goes through the group, and two riders break into a gallop, pulling away from the rest, heading directly toward Liz and Max. Liz marks their rich garb and wildly flying golden locks, easily recognizing them as Max’s siblings, Queen Isobel and Prince Michael. 

Max halts the horses at the sight of them, quickly dismounting as they approach. The pair barely slow as they overtake them, and Isobel launches herself from her saddle into Max’s waiting arms, nearly toppling the both of them. 

“You’re alive! You’re alive! I knew you were alive.” She’s smiling through tears, clutching him tightly, as if he might disappear again the moment she let go. 

“If you don’t let him breathe, he won’t be alive for much longer, Iz,” Michael jokes as he draws his horse up and dismounts. Liz pretends not to see the unshed tears in his own eyes. He rescues Max briefly from their sister to embrace him before Isobel steals him back, not holding quite as tightly this time but just barely. 

“I never gave up hope, Max. Not once. I knew you would return to me,” Isobel is saying. Liz watches them with a wistful smile, her own heart aching at the thought of being able to hold Rosa again.

Giving the trio some privacy, Liz turns her attention to another pair of riders drawing close, breaking into a grin as she recognizes them as Maria and another friend of hers, Ser Alex Manes. She dismounts to greet them, and Maria sweeps her up in a familiar warm hug. “You did it, Liz! I knew you would.”

“It helps when you have the sight,” Alex quips, still atop his horse. When Maria releases her, he clasps the hand Liz extends up to him. “Good work, Liz. We’re happy to see both of you alive and well.” 

“And you,” she replies. “You’re looking well. I love the uniform.” Alex has apparently been promoted to the Captain of the Royal Guard in her absence. 

“Well, they had to do something with me.” He taps his right thigh. “Not good for much else without the leg.” Alex’s father, Ser Jesse Manes, had been the knight who betrayed and ambushed Max, taking him captive, not caring that his own son was among those attacked. Alex had been injured during the assault while protecting a young squire, and lost the lower half of his right leg as a result. He’d still been bedridden when Liz set out on her quest. It is indeed good to see him looking so well, and despite his words, Liz is glad to see him honored for his valor. 

“Nonsense,” Maria retorts, echoing Liz’s own thoughts. “Don’t listen to him. He tried to turn it down, you know.” Alex shoots her an irritated glare that she ignores, though she gives Liz a look communicating that she’ll explain later. 

“Well, it suits him.” Alex gives her a grateful half-smile, sensing she isn’t going to press the subject. She turns back to Maria. “I know Alex is escorting the queen, but what are you doing here, Maria? Have you had another vision? Something else about Ophiuchus?” 

Maria shakes her head. “More of the same. The visions feel more urgent though. There’s a solidity to them that wasn’t there before. Like the path has become more a single road with fewer branches to stray you off course.” Liz’s frustration must show because Maria takes her hands in hers. “It’s a good sign, Liz. I came because I felt I needed to be here. That it was important.” 

“She stormed into a private council meeting and _told_ Queen Isobel that she was coming,” Alex adds with a proud grin. Liz laughs at the image, knowing he is not exaggerating, it is exactly something Maria would do. Isobel must have been furious. 

“Her _face_ , Liz,” Maria confirms. “You should have been there. I’m the best seeress in Roswell after my mother, and somehow she was still shocked I knew they were leaving to find the two of you.” 

“How did _she_ know I had succeeded? There was no time for a message to have gotten to Roswell already. And if you didn’t tell her—” 

“She’s better at hiding it than her brothers, but magic runs through them all.” That seems to be the only explanation Maria is willing to give for the moment. Certainly there had been rumors about Isobel, the same as with Max and Michael, but unlike her brothers, no one seems to know what Isobel can actually _do_ , if anything. Liz wonders if Maria has her suspicions, then wonders if Max would tell her if she asked. 

“Captain!” Liz’s musing is interrupted by Prince Michael striding up to them. “Is this a secure enough place for a brief respite? The queen is in need of rest from all the excitement.” The words are oddly formal coming from the prince, whom Liz knows to be rather indecorous, and she notices Alex stiffen in his staddle, an unreadable expression crossing his face. The two men seem to have a tense conversation with just their eyes, before Alex finally nods. 

“There was a small clearing off the road about half a mile back. We can rest there,” he says. 

“I’ll let Isobel know.” Michael turns to her. “Ser Liz, thank you, for rescuing Max. If there’s anything you need in the future, we are in your debt.” 

“There’s no need to thank me, Your Highness. I was merely doing my duty to the crown.” 

“I still hate that title, for the record.” Michael is Max’s and Isobel’s half-brother, the bastard son of the king. The pair hadn’t even known they had a brother until they were eleven, and when Max became king, they formally recognized him. A blacksmith by trade, he’d grown up in poverty before he’d been apprenticed, and he hadn’t adjusted easily into court life. “Just call me Michael. Lady Maria.” With a brief nod of his head as a take-leave, he strides off again as quickly as he’d come. Liz gives Maria a quizzical look, wondering at the whole exchange, but once again her expression says she’ll explain later. 

Alex is the first to break the silence that falls with the prince’s leaving. “I should let the rest of the group know. I’ll see you two later,” he says, before riding off to give orders to the rest of the retinue. 

“You have a lot to catch me up on,” Liz says to Maria as she watches him leave, feeling there was much she missed in the months she’d been away from court. 

“Gossip later. Looks like I’m about to lose you.” She grins as she gestures to where Max was making his way over to them, giving Liz a sly look. “Your Majesty. It’s good to see you alive and well.” 

“And you, Lady Maria.” He bows his head in response to her curtsy, but adds, “You can call me Max for now. From what I’m told, Isobel is the current reigning monarch.”

Maria murmurs something that Liz didn’t quite catch, though she could guess at its content. There is no love lost between her and the queen. From the glint in Max’s eye, she suspects he can too. But having the two of them together turns her attention to more pressing concerns than the political considerations of Max’s return. “Maria, when Max was held by Ophiuchus, he saw a number of magical runes and symbols. We were hoping you could help us identify them, see if they can give us any clues as to who or where he is.”

“Of course. I don’t have my books with me, but I can take a look and see if anything jumps out at me.” 

Max pulls out the pages he’s made. “I don’t know if they are supposed to be in a particular order, or if they are even accurate. My memory is foggy, and I wasn’t alert for most of it.” 

“Well, we’ll just have a look.” Maria takes them and begins to scan them carefully. “A lot of these are standard spell runes,” she says as she shifts through them. “Did this one have more of a hook at the end?” She points to one that looks a bit like a tortoise to Liz, and Max nods. “These were definitely used in the spell used to curse you—oh. Oh that’s how he did it. Hmm.” 

She turns to the last page and goes absolutely still. The page only has one symbol on it, triangular in shape, with lines drawn from each corner bisecting a circle. One circle has another line bisecting the first, another has a smaller circle nested within it, and the last one has two circles on either side of the line, drawn off-center and opposite each other. Liz hasn’t seen anything like it before. Maria clearly has however. “What is it? What does this mean?” Liz asks. 

“I don’t know, but it’s connected to the Alighting.” Liz and Max exchange blank expressions.

“What’s the Alighting?” Max asks. 

Maria finally takes her eyes off the page to look at him. Liz notices a slight tremor in her hand. “It’s a ritual. Or an event. It’s unclear. The texts I’ve found so far only make allusions to it.” There’s a waver in her voice as well. She’s afraid. Not much frightens Maria DeLuca, and Liz finds herself tensing up in response. Max notices it as well. “Your Majesty,” Maria continues. “I’ve been sensing an imbalance. Ophiuchus has been drawing power for something. Something big. Something that isn’t meant to happen yet. If he’s trying to bring about the Alighting, we have to stop him, and soon, or there will be unimaginable consequences.”


	3. Chapter 3

The clearing proves to be a good location to set up camp, which they do despite the early hour. A rider with news from Roswell caught up to them enroute, and combined with Maria’s revelation, Max decided it was best to discuss and plan their next move before setting off again. 

The message contains news about the continuing conflict with Jesse Manes. It seems that Ser Jenna Cameron and Alex’s brother, Ser Gregory, have managed to successfully hold Jesse’s forces at bay, causing him to lose a key position in a recent battle near the northern borderlands. There also came further confirmation that Ophiuchus seems to have abandoned whatever deal he made with Jesse, with no evidence he’s been helping his forces since Max’s capture. Whatever his goals, Ophiuchus seems to have used Jesse with one purpose, and abandoned him as soon as he accomplished what he needed.

With the rest of the retinue preparing the camp for the evening, and Isobel and Michael filling Max in on what he missed in the months since he had gone missing, Liz finds herself left to her own devices until after the evening meal when Max and Maria are set to confer again. Maria offered to share her tent for the night, which Liz readily accepted, having spent the last several nights with only a bedroll—and Max within easy sight. Sleep had not come easy. Liz found herself fearing his absence when she awoke, while also unsettled by his presence, too aware of his nearness after so long parted. They haven’t shared any time alone since before Rosa, but there is a familiar ease that still exists between them. They had always worked well together, and as they made their way across the kingdom even the tension between them had a familiarity to it, as if it too had always existed. Perhaps it has. Liz found herself too often recalling the months before Rosa, when Liz had looked at Max and seen something more than her friend, something more even than the prince and the future king of Roswell. It seems to her that the tension between them now is not unlike how it had been back then, but heightened, not having arrived gradually over the months and years but returning in a sudden terrifying rush which leaves Liz constantly unbalanced. 

She finds herself wondering what answer she might have given him back then had Rosa not been cursed, then chides herself of the futility of such ponderings. Spending the nights apart from him seems a reprieve from the chaos of her own thoughts. 

She spots Alex as she makes her way to the tent in search of Maria. He’s giving orders for the evening’s preparations, walking with the aid of a crutch and fake leg attached via some contraption Liz glimpsed but briefly earlier when he had needed to adjust it after dismounting his horse. She has never seen anything like it before, and is curious as to it’s design and maker. She had left Roswell expecting to never see Alex walk again, and the sight of it was a wonder. 

“Kyle is going to be unhappy when he learns he hasn’t been resting as much as he should,” Maria says as she comes to stand beside Liz, as cognizant as she usually is of Liz’s thoughts. “He should know better by now though. Alex is not prone to idleness.” None of them were. 

“If he allowed Alex to come, he definitely should have expected it. Unless his recommendation was ignored?” Liz frowns. Alex is stubborn, but Liz has trouble imagining him ignoring the physician’s orders if he were unfit for duty as doing so would put the rest of the entourage at risk. If the queen was insistent Alex come however—

“He allowed it. Eventually. With great reluctance. After I promised to make him rest.” Liz raises a brow at that. “And I have! When he has truly needed it, and was less likely to fight me. I choose my battles wisely. Unlike  _ some _ .” Her irked tone at the end makes Liz suspect she’s no longer talking about Kyle or Alex. But before she can ask, Maria is nodding her head again in Alex’s direction. “I see Ser Forrest is determined to get his heart broken by our dear Captain.” 

Liz looks back over to him and sees a knight with rather startling blue hair lean in close to Alex to speak to him. Whatever he says, it makes the both of them laugh before Alex is leaning in himself to respond. And the look he’s giving this Ser Forrest as he does, well— “Alex doesn’t seem uninterested?” Liz says, marveling at the sight. It’s a known fact that Alex prefers the company of men, but she’s never seen him flirt openly like this before. 

“Oh, he’ll end up in his bed if he hasn’t already,” Maria says, a knowing grin on her face, “but Alex’s fate is along a different road.” 

Being friends with Maria over the years means Liz was used to such remarks. Casual, frank certainties which rarely prove to be wrong, though she’d once confessed to Liz long ago that reading her own future and those of the people closest to her are the hardest and the most uncertain. “I thought he told you not to look into his future.”

“I haven’t! But I don’t need magic to see that while he’s fond of Ser Forrest, it’s a flirtation, nothing more.” She sounds certain enough, though as Liz glances back at the pair, Forrest is watching Alex walk off with an adoring expression. Even if she’s right, Liz is happy he has someone for the time being at least. Even if that someone has the strangest color hair she’s ever seen. She wonders at the story behind it.

She also wonders what Maria sees when she looks at her and Max. She doesn’t ask. She asks about Ser Forrest’s hair instead. 

~*~ 

Later that evening, after the evening meal, they rejoin Max, Isobel and Michael in the Queen’s tent. Further study of the symbols Max had seen provided little additional information. The symbol that so frightened Maria seems to be the only real clue they have as to what Ophiuchus’s plans are. 

Max asks Maria to explain to Isobel and Michael what she knows about the symbol and the Alighting. “Not much,” she confesses. “It’s a ritual...or an event, something that hasn’t happened in centuries. It’s about power. About the nature of magic and its connection to the world, to us. To those of us with magic, and those without. Everything in balance. From what I’ve read, whatever it is, it’s meant to restore that balance. And I believe Ophiuchus is trying to hasten it’s coming. But the Alighting, it’s dangerous. The energy required is immense. Not only can it kill him, and possibly others, but it can upset the balance of magic in the world, bringing chaos.” 

“How, exactly?” Max asks. 

“War, famine, disease, boiling oceans, super-powered monsters, you name it. It’s not good, Max.” They all turn toward Michael, surprised. He shrugs. “So I’ve read a book or two.” 

Maria quirks an eyebrow at him, earning her the slightest hint of a guilty flush from him, before continuing. “It could also eradicate all magic entirely. If Ophiuchus is trying to bring about the Alighting, we need to do everything we can to stop him. ”

“Why would even he want to? If it’s so dangerous?” Max asks.

“Power,” Michael and Maria say at the same time, before Michael explains, “The Alighting is essentially about power. If he’s strong enough, and smart enough, he can channel an incredible amount of power directly to himself. He could become invulnerable, the most powerful mage in the world.” 

“And what does any of this have to do with us? Why capture Max? Why the curses?” Isobel interjects. “If he wants to bring about the Alighting or whatever, why doesn’t he just do it? Why all the dramatics?” 

“I don’t know,” Maria admits, earning her an irritated glare from the queen. “The curses might not have anything to do with the Alighting at all. But we can’t let him perform it. Even if he’s successful, the power he gains will have to come from somewhere. It’ll create an imbalance, and there’s no telling what consequences that will bring.” 

“How?” Liz asks. “We still don’t even know who he is.” 

“I have an idea. Max’s memories are jumbled because of the spell, but,” Maria looks steadily and directly at Isobel, “if he had help, we might be able to help him organize them.”

Isobel is already shaking her head. “No. No, you really expect me to go in there and make sense of whatever mess he left behi—how the hell do you even know about that?” 

“She has a point, Iz,” Michael says. “You could get in there and have a look around. Max could have seen Ophicuhus, or know where he was held. Who knows what kind of intel he has in that thick head of his?”

“Oh I should have known. You told her. Are our family secrets what counts as pillow talk these days?” The question is directed at Michael, but it’s Maria who rolls her eyes with an annoyed huff. 

“I didn’t tell her anything,” Michael says. "It doesn’t matter anyway. She knows. And it’s a good idea.”

“We’ll do it.” Max’s tone brooks no argument. They both quiet. He walks over to Isobel, taking her hands in his. “Iz. You know me better than anyone. If anyone can make sense of what is going on in my head, it’s you. You can do this.” 

After a moment, she nods with great reluctance. “Fine. We’ll try.” 

Max looks at Maria. “Good,” she says. “If you both feel ready, we can do it now.” 

Isobel snorts. “Do I even have a choice?” Max shoots her a look of warning. “Fine. Fine. I’m ready.” She walks over to a low table and sits down on one of the cushions beside it. “Let’s get this over with.” 

As Max joins her, Maria says, “I’ll watch for any signs of danger—”

“I’m perfectly capable of doing this on my own—”

“There’s no telling if the spell has left anything harmful behind,” Maria says firmly, ignoring Isobel. “I’ll pull you out if either of you show any signs of distress.” 

She looks to Michael for support. He nods. “We’ll keep an eye on you, Iz.” It doesn’t seem to help much. 

“I trust you, Isobel,” Max adds. She seems to resign herself, though she shoots Maria another piercing glare, before settling into position. Liz watches as she takes Max’s hands in hers, straightening her spine as they sit facing one another. As they look at each other, their faces slowly go blank and unfocused, trance-like. 

Liz glances at Maria, curious if she knows how long they will be like this. Maria’s visions usually lasted no more than a few moments, though she will occasionally put herself under for longer if she needs more information or clarification. As Maria explained it, time moves differently within the mind. Minutes can stretch like hours, and there is danger in staying too long within the mindscape. It is easy to get lost, lose track of one’s self. Sometimes the extra time spent there provided Maria clarity, but it also could only further confuse or complicate the things Maria saw. It rarely ever helped when it came to Rosa and Ophiuchus. When it came to Rosa, Maria’s visions and prophecies came only by chance—or perhaps fate. 

Isobel is only under for a few moments before she startles awake. “Rosa?”

Liz’s heart leaps into her throat, elation and hope surging. “Rosa? What about Rosa? What did you see?” She reaches for Isobel but Maria stops her with a quick shushing motion. 

“I—I saw her,” Isobel says, blinking slowly as Max stirs as well. “It wasn’t a memory. It was something else—just a flash. But I think she was trying to communicate something.” 

“I think her mind has been waking up. It’s been wandering,” Maria explains as the three of them look to her. “I’ve been seeing her ever since Liz left to find Max.”

“You have? Why didn’t you tell me?” Liz feels an unexpected sting of jealousy and betrayal. Maria had said nothing had changed. 

“Because I wasn’t sure what I was seeing at first. And while I think it means we’re getting close, it also puts her in more danger. If her mind is not in her body and we try to wake her—” Liz hears the unspoken implication, and feels a new kind of horror. They were running out of time. “We need to know who Ophiuchus is first. Isobel, concentrate. Focus specifically on Max.” Isobel begins to sputter a protest at the order, but Max obeys immediately, taking her hands back into his own. She gives an indignant huff but does as instructed, squaring her shoulders and sinking them back into the mindscape. In her periphery Liz catches a look pass between Michael and Maria, Michael seemingly amused by her take charge attitude and Isobel’s reaction to it, but it’s a look tempered with worry. 

Isobel and Max are quiet for much longer this time. Michael begins to pace as they wait. Liz fights the urge to join him, feeling a similar helpless restlessness. She needs to be  _ doing _ something. Anything. But Maria continues to watch them patiently for any sign of danger or distress, though she occasionally glances over at Liz and Michael, checking on them as well. Liz is grateful for her steadiness, knowing inaction is as ill-fitting on Maria as it is on the two of them. It grounds her. 

Finally Isobel starts to move her head gently back and forth. Her eyes slide close and her face tenses, like she’s concentrating more intently on something. Or fighting something. Michael starts to move toward her, but Maria gently grabs his arm. “Michael,” is all she says. 

He raises his hands in a small, frustrated gesture of surrender. “I don’t like this.” The pacing resumes. 

“I know. Give them a little longer.”

Long, tense moments pass. Liz’s restlessness increases. Michael’s pacing begins to irk her and she’s contemplating making him stop just for something to do when Isobel violently awakens, her head shaking frantically. “No. No no no. No, it can’t be.” 

Michael is by her side in the instant. “What is it, Iz? What did you see?” he asks, as Max wakes and reaches for her as well. 

“She saw Ophiuchus,” Maria says, certain and solemn, gaze fixed upon Isobel with a focused intensity that Liz recognizes as her intuition. 

“Who was it, Isobel?” urged Max, a crying, clinging Isobel in his arms. 

“It can’t be him! It’s not him. It can’t be him. Tell me it’s not him, Max.”

The helpless look Max gives Liz as he holds his sister seems to entreat her for help. She leans in. “Who was it, Isobel?” she asks, as gently but firmly as she can. “We need to know. Who is Ophiuchus? Who did you see?”

“Noah. I saw Noah.” 

~*~ 

The rest of the evening is a furious whirlwind as everyone takes in the shock of Isobel’s words: that her beloved husband, Noah Bracken, is the man responsible for both Max’s capture and Rosa’s curse. The revelation stuns them all. Unlike Jesse Manes, whose loyalty to the Evanses had always been tenuous, Noah’s fidelity had never been questioned. By all accounts, he was exactly who he appeared to be, a good and decent man and a loving husband. Before meeting Isobel, he’d been the steward of one of the King’s vassals, his family having fled civil war to settle in Roswell years before. They had met at Max’s coronation, many of the lords having come to pledge their loyalty to the new king, as is custom. Isobel falling for him surprised her brothers, but he’d been easily welcomed into the royal household, all of whom appreciated his easy charm, steady counsel, and diplomatic nature. That he had so successfully cloaked his true nature from everyone is a crushing blow. 

The stunned disbelief quickly turns to anger, with tempers flaring—Michael’s loud and demonstrative, Max seemingly more controlled, but his anger darker, deadlier. Liz has never seen him so furious before. It both unnerves her and leaves a flush beneath her skin, urging her to fight, flee and soothe all at the same time. 

Isobel is slower to react, much much less willing to believe what she herself had seen inside Max’s memories. Her temper, when it finally comes, finds easy targets in the people around her, her tongue lashing and sparing no one, even as she struggles to make sense of it all. 

Liz cannot name what she feels—emotions flooding through her one after another: joy, hope, confusion, betrayal, anger, loss, failure, fear. But above all of it: determination. She has a name. 

He’d been right there, beneath their noses, the whole time, and they couldn’t see him. She couldn’t see him. The miles traveled, the dangers faced, the years wasted away, the whole time. The answer she sought all along had been in the familiar smiling face of Noah Bracken. 

She has so many questions. Whatever clarity she might have expected from learning Ophiuchus’s identity failed to materialize. While Noah’s motivations regarding Max might be guessed at, his motivation for cursing Rosa is no more apparent now than it has ever been. He didn’t even  _ know _ Rosa, did he? And if they had met, when? And how? What did Rosa have to do with Max or the Alighting? It has been ten years. Had she found Noah out somehow? Stumbled upon something she shouldn't have seen, even back then? Did she pose some threat to him? 

The only thing Liz is certain of in this moment is that she will not get the answers she wants while they fight amongst themselves, so after a particularly biting exchange between Isobel and Maria that almost comes to blows, she speaks up. “This isn’t going to solve anything.” 

Her voice is strong enough that all four heads snap around to look at her, even as Maria takes advantage of the sudden distraction to pull out of the hold Michael has her in, meant to prevent her from launching herself at Isobel. She elbows him as she does so with a glare, earning a soft grunt from him. 

“Liz is right. We need a plan.” Isobel’s mouth snaps close at Max’s words, apparently deciding whatever new volley she’d been about to launch wasn’t worth drawing the ire laced in his voice. 

Michael is not so wise. “We have a plan, Max. It’s called killing Noah. Slowly. Preferably after we’ve tortured him for any information he has on Jesse Manes.” His scarred left hand flexes and tightens into a fist as he speaks. 

“That’s not a plan, Michael. He’s fooled us for years. All of us.” His voice gentles just slightly with the last line, directed at Isobel, her facade of anger crumbling at Michael’s words. “We don’t know what he’s capable of. What he’s planning. He’s been playing us for years and he knows we’re coming.” There’s a familiar crackle in the air, an electric charge raising the hairs of her skin much like they had when Liz had fought with Max in the cave. The sudden tension in the room lets her know that the others felt it too. 

She’s never given much thought before about how often it stormed before or after a battle with Max, even during the dry season. 

She isn’t sure what impulse drives her when she reaches out to gently touch his arm. “Max.” The crackling hum of the room fades. Michael and Isobel exchange a look, but Liz keeps hers on Max who looks right back at her, something like surprise on his face. 

“We need a distraction,” she says after a quiet moment, eyes still on his. “We need time to plan. We can stretch the journey to Roswell to almost a fortnight without raising suspicion. We can take the time to gather information, find a way to subdue him.” She tears her gaze away from Max’s to look at Maria. 

“The more I know about the way his magic works, the better. Isobel will need to get into Max’s head again.” It’s clear by the determined jut of her chin when she looks at Isobel that she's expecting her to protest, but Isobel nods her assent with only a mild glare. “And I will need to know as much as I can about the way your magic works as well.” This time it’s Max on the receiving end of her bold gaze, the memory of electricity still about them. 

“We’ll tell you what we know, but it isn’t much. We were taught to suppress them, not use them.” Maria makes a face, well aware of how her own mother was treated, welcomed at court only as long as she was useful, and easily discarded when her usefulness ran out. When her gaze switches finally over to Michael, it’s sympathetic. Everyone knows about his mother’s own fall from favor. 

“Guerin and I will work on the Alighting and how to stop it as well. Since clearly he’s been helping himself to my collection.” Her glare gets her something of a smug grin from him, pulling him back to the present from whenever his memories had taken him.

“Whatever Noah’s cooking, we have to stop it, Max. Treason, working with Jesse fucking Manes, betraying Isobel, you. He deserves to die. But the Alighting is bigger than all of that. We can’t let him have that kind of power.” 

“Don’t worry, he’ll die.” It’s a king’s promise, authoritative and resolute. 

“And we should let Alex know what we know,” Michael continues. “We’ll need his help, and he’s too smart not to figure something’s up if we try to keep this from him.” 

“You can trust him,” Maria readily agrees. 

“Agreed. Send someone to go get him. We can fill him in now.” The order is directed at Maria, but Michael is already moving toward the tent entrance. “No one else,” Max adds. “This says between us. We can’t risk tipping Noah off that we know he’s the one who betrayed us.” 

“We should also have Alex request all known intel on his father’s movements and whereabouts be sent to us,” Liz suggests. “Since we know Noah used him to get to you.”

“Good idea. It makes sense that I would focus my attention on Jesse, and will give him further reason to believe we don’t know. Also gives us a good excuse for a slower pace, waiting on messages and sending instructions.” 

“Is there anything else we can distract him with? Keep his attention away from us?”

“The feast.” Confused eyes turn to Isobel. “Max has returned to us. I’m overjoyed at the return of my brother, the king, and am throwing a feast in his honor. We send word ahead for everything to be prepared before our arrival. I’m bored of this talk of war, and am happy to finally hand such matters back to Max to deal with. Instead, I’ve decided to spend my time sending writing instructions for the celebration upon our return. Noa—Ophiuchus.” Her voice breaks a little, trembling, but there’s no time to react before she’s shaking her head, spine straightening. “ _ Noah  _ knows me well enough to know that I will expect everything to be perfect. He’ll have to oversee a lot of it himself.” 

It’s agreed to be a sound plan, and when Alex arrives, he suggests they alter route as well, taking a more northerly path. It will add days to their journey, giving them more time to strategize, and has the additional advantage of being able to rendezvous with Ser Jenna and Ser Gregory who could update Max directly on Jesse Manes’s most recent movements. It’s exactly what Max would do if he didn’t know about Noah, and even more prudent now given Jesse’s previous association with Noah. Or Ophiuchus. After some debate they agree that Jesse is likely no more aware of his true identity than they had been before tonight. Still, it’s wise to keep a careful eye on him and his movements. 

And if the rumors about Max’s return and single-minded focus on him led to Jesse making a mistake while his forces were weakened and being forced to retreat? All the better. Liz noted Alex’s and Michael’s apparent disappointment at not being able to join the effort directly, though neither of them voiced it. They all knew Ophiuchus was the priority here. 

It was because of this that Liz waited until they were almost done for the evening to ask, “What about Rosa?” 

“Yes, what is her connection to all of this?” Isobel asks. “Didn’t that happen a decade ago? Before I even...are we even sure she  _ is _ connected? What he did to her could be completely unrelated to Max, if he even did it in the first place. I mean we’re relying on Maria’s visions for—” 

“It was him,” snaps Maria, “and my _ visions  _ are the only reason the king is back. And you saw her for yourself. Her spirit is wandering. That didn’t start until after Max was taken. They are connected.” Her glare leaves Isobel and sweeps across the room as if daring somebody else to doubt her. Alex has a poorly hidden grin and Michael makes a small gesture of surrender. Max meets her glare directly with a nod of thanks. 

Isobel wisely keeps her mouth shut. 

When Maria gets to Liz though, her expression softens, and she moves to gently take Liz’s arms into her own. “Liz, you know I miss Rosa as much as you do. I promise you, she’s linked somehow to all of this. I don’t know how, but I’ve never seen her as clearly as I have these last few months. We’re close. We’ll get her back.” She gives Liz a little squeeze with a tender smile. The words comfort Liz, but she knows Maria well enough to see the sliver of doubt clouded behind her eyes, hidden beneath her confidence. 

“Would killing Noah break Rosa’s curse?” asks Max. The hard edge is back in his voice, the one that assures Liz he won’t stop until Noah sees justice. Maria considers carefully before shaking her head. “I don’t know. I could never figure out how he’s been sustaining her life force. It’s possible killing him will have no effect.”

“But you don’t believe that.” Apparently Max can read Maria also as well as Liz can. They share a long look, before Maria sighs with another shake of her head. 

“I believe the two of them are linked somehow.” Her eyes dart back to Liz’s and almost immediately dart away again. Liz’s stomach drops. “If the link is severed, Rosa could wake up.” 

Max says what Maria doesn’t and what Liz is afraid to hear. “But severing the link could also kill her.” 

Again Maria sneaks a peak at Liz, but avoids her eyes. She takes a deep breath. “It’s a possibility,” she admits and the knot in Liz’s stomach is now in her throat choking her with panic. She clutches at Maria, who is finally looking at her again, adding, “But I don’t believe that’s going to happen, Liz. I’ve seen nothing,  _ felt _ nothing in my visions or intuition about her dying. I know we’re close to breaking the curse. I heart tells me that’s a  _ good thing _ , Liz.”

But Maria has the most trouble seeing into the future of her loved ones. If she didn’t  _ want  _ to believe Rosa could die... “Maria—”

“Then we keep Noah alive.” Liz’s grateful for Maria’s hold on her; it’s the only thing that keeps her standing at Max’s words. She holds onto Maria as she looks at him stunned. Max is staring right back at her, resolute. “We keep him alive until he tells us how to wake Rosa. Or until we know it’s safe for her.” 

It’s a promise, and one specifically made for Liz. Despite what Noah has done to him, to Isobel, to the kingdom, Max will make sure Rosa is safe first. She doesn’t know how to show her relief or gratitude, hopes he can see it in her eyes. Ignores the urge to express it physically, to let her body say what words cannot, knowing doing so would be making a promise in return, one she wasn’t sure she could keep. Not yet. Not when she is still beholden to another. Instead, she nods and says, “Thank you, Your Majesty.” 

She doesn’t miss the way he flinches at the address, doesn’t miss the way he withdraws and hides behind the mantle, responding in kind to the distance created by her words. She ignores the twist in her own heart as he does so. It’s for the best. She has her oath to her father, to Rosa. And now she has his promise as well. For now, it’s enough.

~*~ 

Later, as she and Maria lie in their tent attempting to sleep, Liz remembers that flash of pain in his eyes before he hid it, and feels the absence of him not lying nearby more keenly than she’d expected. Then Maria reaches her hand across the space between them and takes Liz’s in hers, holding it, and it’s so like what Rosa would do when they were girls that Liz chokes back a sob. An older, far more painful longing overtaking a new one.

Or perhaps the new one is in fact an even older one, long forgotten under the crushing weight of grief and heartbreak? 

It’s a question Liz can’t bring herself to ask. Not yet. Not when she finally knows who Ophiuchus is. Not when they are working on a plan to save Rosa. Not when she finally has hope, something she hasn’t truly felt in a long time. 

The question she asks instead is why Rosa feels further away now than ever? 


	4. Chapter 4

It’s a question she’s still asking herself over a fortnight later, when they are still no closer to an answer as to how to break Rosa’s curse. The journey is frustratingly slow. Slow by design, yes, but information comes to them even more so, if at all, and the sluggish pace just adds to the burgeoning tension. The closer they get to Roswell, the more the tension mounts, causing tempers to flare. 

In the evenings, Isobel searches Max’s memories, picking out details and as many specifics as she can with Maria’s guidance. That is until the constant exposure to each other builds to a near breaking point about a week into the journey, and Michael has to take over for Maria before there is either another act of treason or a royal execution. Between the four of them, however, they are able to determine that along with Noah’s extensive knowledge of spellwork, his magic works much like their own, except it seems possible he is able to perform all of them, instead of just specific ones like Max, Isobel and Michael. It means he should be as easy to subdue as any of them, if given the element of surprise, and precautions are taken to keep him bound with a blindfold, neutralizing most of his abilities. Eventually, they decide Isobel slipping a sedative into his drink at the feast is the best course of action, with Maria supplying the necessary ingredients.

Beyond that they learn frustratingly little. How Noah plans to bring about the Alighting, how to break Rosa’s curse, and how it plays into everything else remains distressingly elusive. 

The only truly good news seems to come from their rendezvous with Ser Gregory and Ser Jenna, from whom they learn Jesse’s army has been forced to retreat on multiple fronts. Further intelligence suggests that a number of his knights have defected, further dwindling his already depleted numbers, and it’s uncertain for how much longer he can continue his assault on Roswell. The war might soon be won. 

One point of concern, however, comes from a small number of his forces who have broken off from the rest and moved westward toward a more cavernous region, well away from the rest of the fighting. For Max and Alex, it seems to smell of a trap, and they are reluctant to devote forces to follow them into such dangerous terrain. It’s agreed to send several scouts to trail them instead, ready to report back should they somehow post a threat. 

For some reason, the news about Jesse seems to exacerbate the weird tension between Alex and Michael, adding further to the stress permeating the group as a whole. Even Liz and Maria find themselves eager to spend time apart, the strain of Maria’s inability to see anything more about Rosa’s fate, leaving her feeling guilty and Liz unable to hide her increasing anxiety and discouragement. One night Maria doesn’t return to their tent, and Liz is grateful for the temporary reprieve, not even questioning with whom she spent her evening with the next morning.

Unexpectedly, with the anxiety escalating amongst their party, Liz and Max find their way back to a form of camaraderie. The intimacy of before they joined the retinue seemed set aside for the time being, the two of them careful to maintain a level of distance similar to that they had at court before Max’s capture and Liz’s rescue of him. However, they develop a habit of checking in with the other after the others have retired for the evening, sharing any final thoughts, though largely not speaking at all, just sharing the time and the quiet, something comforting about the other’s presence even with all they aren’t saying between them. 

On the last evening of their journey, the group meets to go over the plan, which feels somewhat desperate for all the unknowns still before them. They find themselves speaking in quiet tones, meeting as they are in a private room of the inn they had secured lodging in. It was owned by a Grant Green, a rather anxious man, facetiously humbled by their choice to stay at his inn and eager to please for the honor to claim their patronage. Liz immediately finds him obnoxious, and longs to spend the evening with her father, whose own inn is within an hour’s ride from here. She and Maria plan to visit in the morning, to check on Rosa, before joining the others for the feast. 

Going over the details one final time, the tensions that had grown between over the last weeks seem to dissolve into the background as they lay out what is at stake: Rosa, the fate of the kingdom, possibly even the fate of the world. The mood is somber. They all know they are as ready as they can be. They all know it might not be enough. They had one chance for the element of surprise, and still knew so little. 

When they part ways for the evening, Liz stays with Max, per their habit. Tonight, they don’t speak at all, sitting in the quiet, lost in their own thoughts. When her bed finally calls her and she rises to leave, Max catches her hand as she passes by him, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles, causing her breath to shudder in surprise. 

“Thank you,” he says, their eyes meeting and holding. She doesn’t know what he’s thanking her for. They haven’t done anything yet. But the moment is too raw to break.

When she finally sleeps it’s with those knuckles pressed to her own lips, but with thoughts of Rosa filling her mind.

~*~ 

In the morning, Liz rises before Maria, making use of a nearby courtyard to run through her daily exercises. When she returns, she finds Grant Green waiting for her with a message from Maria, saying she had gone ahead and asking Liz to meet her at the old mines where Rosa and she used to play. At first Liz doesn’t know what to make of the message, surprised that Maria would set off on her own and baffled by her choice of meeting places. She presses Grant for details, asking when she had left and if she had said anything else. 

“Not long ago,” he says, clearly anxious to be done with the task and go about his day. “She said something about a rose?”

“Rosa? Did she say something about Rosa?” Excitement overtakes her. Had Maria finally had a vision about Rosa? The act of seeing is an inconstant magic. Some seers will go years without a true vision, forced to rely on intuition and wit for their supper if they have no other craft. And often their powers fail them when they need them the most, as had happened with Maria’s mother.

But sometimes seers also received visions when they were most in need as well. And a vision of Rosa would certainly explain Maria’s odd behavior. 

“Ah, yes, Rosa. I think that was the name,” he replies distractedly, repeatedly glancing over his shoulder, like he is waiting for someone. Or perhaps hoping to avoid someone. “She said something about a Rosa and that she would meet you at the mines. And for you to hurry.”

“Thank you,” she says, rushing for the door, eager to find Maria and learn what she saw. She only thinks of the others at the last moment, when it occurs to her that if Maria were in a hurry, she might not have let the others know she was leaving. Grant startles when she turns back, something of a terrified look across his face. He recovers quickly however, and correctly guesses the reason for her hesitation. “Go! Go. Don’t worry! I will have one of the girls tell your friends.”

Something nags at her about his mannerism, but she chooses to ignore it, figuring it had nothing to do with her. Maria is waiting and neither of them have much time to spare today. 

That nagging feeling returns when Liz gets to the mines and cannot find Maria. She calls for her with no reply, apprehension building in her veins. A kicked rock is all the warning she gets before four local men jump out of concealment and attack her.

She draws her sword in time to block the first attack, realizing too late the trap she’s fallen into. But three of the men are unskilled and no match for a knight of Liz’s caliber. They fall easily to her blade until one one remains.

Facing him, Liz is stunned to realize she recognizes him. 

Wyatt Long grew up not far from Liz and Maria. A farmer and a common thug, he is prone to too much drinking and often relies on his father’s position as elderman to protect himself when he picks fights he can’t get himself out. However, he isn’t the type to lie in wait for travelers in order to rid them of their goods, and he certainly isn’t not the type to continue to fight when his backup already lay dead on the ground. 

Yet here he is, matching Liz blow for blow, as if he had trained as a knight though Liz knows he has no formal training. He should not be fighting this well.

“You should have left well enough alone,” he says after one hard blow sends her reeling backward. She recovers quickly enough, fending off the next assault. “You might have seen your sister again. Instead, you had to be the big hero. Save the king. Ser Liz of Roswell.”

The words don’t make sense. What did Wyatt care about Rosa and Max? “You should have stayed in Roswell, served the Queen,” he continues. “You should have stayed out of my way. None of you will be able to stop me, stop the Alighting.” 

_ Ophiuchus _ . Somehow he is controlling Wyatt. This isn’t some local thugs working with Grant Green to rid travelers of their purses. This trap was laid specifically for her.  _ He knew _ . 

In the next moment, she sees her opening, sword slicing through Wyatt’s side with deadly precision. He screams, not in pain, but enraged. It’s too late. Moments later he too is dead on the ground. LIz collapses on her knees, panting, reeling. 

Noah knew. He knew they were coming for him. He is prepared for them. Prepared enough to have laid this trap for her. And if he knew Liz and Maria were heading for the town to visit her father—she’s back on her feet and sprinting toward town before the thought even finishes in her mind, pausing only briefly near the entrance to send a warning message to Max before she’s running again, toward her father’s inn, legs carrying her as fast as they can go. Hoping she’s not too late.

The sight of her father laughing outside with a customer nearly stops her in her tracks, legs quivering from the exertion and relief. Her pace is slower but no less determined as she approaches, not wanting to scare him, and Arturo bursts into a huge welcoming grin when he sees her coming, arms outstretched. She doesn’t stop until he’s wrapping her up in his arms 

“Liz! Our brave knight. Finally home!” he exclaims, as proud and happy as he always was to see her. She must have given herself already by holding on for too long or too tight, the fading fear too fresh, since he asks, “Is everything alright, mija?” 

“Yes. Everything’s fine. I’m just happy to see you.” At least that second part is not a lie. 

“Come. Come inside. We’ll put a hot meal inside you and you can tell us all about your latest adventures.” He loves to hear her talk about her travels and feats of daring, which he would then retell with great embellishment to anyone who will listen. 

“I will. Later. First I want to visit Rosa.” 

He pauses in the act of ushering her to sit down. “Rosa? But she’s not here. She’s at the castle.”

Liz freezes, shaken and breathless, fear and hope blooming in her chest. Could it be they’ve already broken the curse somehow? “Is she—did she wake up?” 

“I thought you would already know.” Confusion and worry play across his face. “The king—the new king came a few days ago. He said he’d received a message from you, and he wanted to help. He took her to the castle so you would have everything you needed when you got back.” 

The terror she felt just moments before came rushing back tenfold. “Papi, I have to go.” 

“Liz, what is going on?” 

“I’ll explain everything later, I promise, but I have to get to the castle.” Just then a cry goes up outside, followed by more cries and shouting. She rushes outside to see townsfolk scurrying as a troop of soldiers heads toward the castle. She grabs one and asks what is going on. 

“We just received word from the castle. We’re under attack. Jesse Manes’s men are inside the castle walls.” 

“How did they get inside without anyone spotting them?” The obvious answer comes to her even as she speaks. Ophiuchus again. Noah let them in somehow. Despite their foolish planning, he’d been multiple steps ahead of them this whole time. Once again Liz is running, joining the town guards and other knights as they answer the call of duty. 

The castle gate is open to allow for reinforcements with only a small contingent of men--most on the young side--standing guard to sound the alarm and close the gate if more enemy forces approach. Liz wastes no time making for the festival hall, though she encounters her first group of combatants along the way. She dispatches a number of them quickly before sending her fellow soldiers after the few who run once they realize how outmatched they are. When she arrives at the hall, the fighting has moved on, leaving the wounded and dead scattered about the floor along with broken decorations and furniture. It’s a small mercy they didn’t wait until the feast had begun; the carnage could have been much worse. 

Kyle Valenti is patching up one woman’s injured arm. By the amount of blood on his clothes and the way he’s still barking orders, he’s been here for a while. He looks up as he finishes. “Liz!” 

“Kyle! Max, the queen, do you know where they are?” 

“Noah managed to disappear with them the moment Jesse’s men arrived. I don’t know how. Traitorous bastard. We didn’t even see it coming.” He stands, nodding to another woman to take over. “Come on. The others can handle the rest of them. I’ll take you to Maria. She’s trying to figure out where they went.” 

Liz follows him down the hallway to another small room, nodding when he motions to be quiet as they enter. Inside, Maria sits on the floor, three lit candles in front of her, her eyes closed. By her side is a long dagger that Liz easily recognizes. She taught her how to use it. She might not be a knight like Liz, but Maria DeLuca is not the kind of woman to go down without a fight. 

They don’t wait for long, but every moment stretches, both of them too aware that every moment they wait is one where they can be useful elsewhere. When Maria starts to speak, her eyes are still closed. “Turquoise mines. That’s how they got in. There’s a forgotten system under the oldest part of the castle. Noah took Max and Isobel out that way too.” 

Her eyes snap open, meeting Liz’s immediately in a piercing stare. “Rosa is with them. She knows how to break the curse. It’s the only way to defeat Ophicuhus. Break the curse and he dies.” 

That doesn’t make any sense. How can Rosa tell them how to break the curse if she’s still asleep? Has Noah woken her up? She begins to ask when Maria lifts the knife and cuts her own hand. Kyle lurches forward to stop her, but Liz grabs his arm, stopping him. Maria is using the blood to draw something on the floor; her stare never leaving Liz. She’s still in a trance. 

Liz moves closer to see what she’s drawing. It appears to be a map. “Southern kitchens, east corridor, stone that is not stone.” 

Catching on, Kyle gives Liz a nod before rushing out of the room as Maria continues to draw. He returns in but a moment with pages and some ink, kneeling beside Maria to begin copying it on paper. When Maria finishes, her eyes begin to drift close, only to snap back open in the next instant, hand latching in a punishing grab on Kyles’s wrist. “East wing. Reinforcements are coming. Michael and Alex are in danger!” With that final statement, her eyes close completely, the candles dimming and brightening again, before Maria blinks awake, herself once more. 

She looks at the two of them, surprised at their presence, then looks down at the map on the floor, drawn in her own blood. “I had a vision.” It’s not a question, but there’s enough hesitancy for Liz to realize she doesn’t remember much of it. “You told us where to find Max and Isobel, then said Michael and Alex were in trouble.” 

“Where? Where did I say they were?” Maria asks, tone urgent and distraught. 

“You drew a map—”

“No! Michael and Alex. Where are they?” 

“East wing.”

“We have to go.” Maria grabs Kyle’s hand, urging him up from the floor. “They need our help.” 

“What about Max and Isobel? And Rosa?” Liz knows Maria’s running on intuition now, so fresh from her vision, but she needs her to focus. 

Maria takes the page with the map from Kyle and hands it to her. “You have to go. Kyle and I need to go help Michael and Alex, but Rosa needs you.” 

“Maria, you didn’t tell me how to break the curse. You said Rosa knew, but how do I—”

“I’m sorry, Liz. I don’t know. I just know that it has to be you.” She pulls Liz into a tight hug. “Be careful. You’re our only hope.” She pulls away and grabs Kyle’s hand again. “Come on. We need to go. Now!” 

Kyle hesitates just long enough to ask, “Will you be okay?” Liz honestly doesn’t know, but she does trust Maria, trusts her visions enough to have faith in her words. She nods. “I’ll be fine. Go.” She watches as them hurry away, fear and hope in her heart, before heading in the direction of the southern kitchens. 

On the way, she passes a corridor leading to the wing containing Maria’s room. On impulse, she doubles back. Several years ago, she had journeyed to find a rare flower, the pollen of which was said to prevent magic. They had hoped it could be used to reverse the curse on Rosa, but not only did it not work but its effects against other magics had proven to be very temporary. There is not much left and it will not buy her much time, but if she is to face Noah alone, she’s going to need all the help she can get. 

Pollen obtained, she hurries back toward the kitchens. Other than a few servants scurrying about to help with the fighting—or running from it—she sees no one. The fighting seems concentrated exactly where Maria said she and Kyle were needed, meaning far away from where Liz is headed. 

A stone that is not a stone isn’t the best of clues, but it’s surprisingly easy to find when she knows where to look for it. She finds a hollow stone, which when jiggled loose with her knife reveals a lever behind it, which in turn opens a door in the wall and reveals the rough stone staircase beyond. She makes her way quickly through, able to make out faint torchlight ahead. 

The map Maria drew is crude, made all the more so by Kyle’s hasty scribbling, but she finds her bearings, it’s easy enough to follow. 

She knows she’s close when she hears voices up ahead, and she quickly douses her torch to prevent being seen. She creeps forward in the darkness, soon able to distinguish individual voices. When she hears Max’s deep rumble, she’s hit with a wave of relief. She’s not too late. He’s still alive. 

Isobel is too, shrill feminine voice distinctive from the men. “So you used me. Lied to me. For what? Power?”

“Ultimate power, my love. More power than you can imagine. Power that would render us impervious to mortal danger. From men like Jesse Manes and those who follow him. Superstitious fools who fear what they do not understand and what they cannot control.” 

“You don’t seem to have an issue with men like Jesse Manes. Or are those not his men slaughtering ours upstairs?” Max’s outrage is apparent, impotent fury in every word. 

“A means to an end, easily dealt with after the Alighting. And a necessary one thanks to your lady knight. You should have stayed the serpent, Maximo. I could have helped us all. We could have shared in this power. The serpent and the man. The man and the serpent.” 

Liz has made it all the way to the entrance of the room they are in. Like the halls of the tunnels, the room is roughly cut and large, likely intended as some sort of temporary storage space, without even a door. From her vantage point, she can see Max and Isobel tied up, sat against one wall, though she is careful not to let them see her yet. She can’t risk either of them accidentally giving her away before she is ready. She can’t make out much else of the room, but she can hear Noah well enough to guess his general location. If Maria is right—which she’s been until now—Rosa will be in there somewhere too. 

“Is that why you cursed me? Because you wanted to  _ share _ power?”

“Maximo. I wanted to give you a taste of it.” He’s moved into Liz’s line of sight now, crouching before Max, words taunting. “To show you what you are truly capable of, when you aren’t afraid of yourself. All that power coursing through you, and yet so ashamed to use it.” 

“So you thought giving me more power and turning me into a monster—”

“I didn’t  _ give _ you anything.” His voice is flat and hard now. “I merely unleashed the reins. The form you took, that was you. That power, that rage. It’s already there. I didn’t give you anything you didn’t already have.” As he speaks, Liz can feel the beginnings of a now familiar electric crackle, even from where she is. 

Noah stands, arms splayed wide, delighted. “See Maximo! It was there all this time. Just waiting.” 

“So what now?” Isobel bites out. “You changed your mind? Don’t want to share anymore? You’ll do your little Alighting ritual, unbalance magic, create chaos, or whatever, and then you kill us? Why not just get it over with?”

He reaches down to caress her face, ignoring the way she flinches from his touch. “Oh, Isobel. My queen. You don’t understand. I can’t anymore. I needed  _ his _ heart.” This he says with an admonishing finger pointed at Max, like he’s scolding a small child. “His lady knight ruined that. His was the only vessel powerful enough for what I needed. Now I need both of you. And with both your hearts still in your bodies...I’m afraid you won’t survive the process.” 

He stands and turns away from them, moving toward the center of the room and out of sight again. “And you can thank Ser Liz Ortecho for that.” Liz finds herself recoiling from the venom in his voice. 

“Why did you curse Rosa? What does she have to do with any of this? Was it because of Liz, because you knew she could stop you?” Even here, the pride in Max’s voice and the anger on her behalf warms and thrills her. “So you led her on a wild goose chase for ten years.”

“Stop me? _ Liz _ ? She has no real power. An inconvenience, nothing more.” She looks forward to proving him wrong. “Your love for her blinds you. It always has.” Her breath stops, waiting, heart racing though she wills it down. She’s known. Of course she’s known, simply refused to acknowledge it, even to herself. But Noah is seeking to torment Max, and she can’t allow her own feelings distract her. For ten years, she’s locked them safely away, putting her oaths first, and now more than ever their lives depend on her keeping her head. 

“I never understood what you saw in her, Maximo. She’s nothing but a shadow of her sister. Of Rosa.” The possessiveness in Noah’s voice sends a creeping chill crawling across her skin, and as she watches the same comprehension dawning on both Isobel’s and Max’s faces, her hand tightens on the hilt of her sword. Her grip is tight enough to imprint the steel upon her skin as she forces herself to remain still and wait for her opportunity instead of giving in to the compulsion to charge in and run him through with it. Instead, she watches the revulsion spread across Isobel’s face, knowing it mirrors her own. 

Isobel gives her disgust voice. “You were in love with her, weren’t you?” she taunts. “Did she reject you? That’s why you cursed her, isn’t it? She rejected you, and you knew she could stop you. So you cursed her.”

“She didn’t understand!” He moves back into Liz’s line of sight as he stalks toward Isobel. “But she will. She will. Our fates are intertwined, she and I. Eventually she will see.” 

With him turned away from her, Liz seizes her opportunity. She charges into the room, one hand letting loose a puff of pollen, blinding Noah as he turns toward her in surprise, and the other hand runs Noah through with her sword. 

She realizes her mistake almost instantly, feeling the too easy way it pierces his body, throwing her off balance. No resistance where flesh should have slowed the blade. The irritation and rage on his face confirms what she’s already realized. What Maria has warned her about. Only Rosa will be able to kill him.

But the pollen buys her the time she needs to improvise when Noah thrusts his hand at her, and she remains standing instead of being sent flying across the room. She doesn’t give him time to react, slamming her fist into his face, and sending him falling backward. She pulls the sword from him as he falls, kicking him for good measure, before running to Max. He’s already risen to his knees, a deadly grin upon his face, turning his back to her so can cut his bounds.

“Keep him busy,” she says, handing him her sword and unsheathing her dagger.

“Don’t worry, I will.” 

She kneels behind Isobel and cuts her ropes as well. Steel clashes on steel, and she looks over her shoulder to see that Noah has produced a sword of his own, though Max has him well in hand for the moment.

“Liz, thank god. Please tell me you have a plan,” Isobel says.

Liz helps her to her feet. “I need you to get inside Rosa’s head. She knows how to break the curse and stop Noah. I need you to tell me how.”

“Understood.”

The sounds of clanging metal and Noah’s outraged grunts abate somewhat as Max maneuvers Noah out into the hallway, getting him as far away from the two of them as possible. The rest of the room is bare except for a table in the center with Rosa laid upon it like a sacrifice. Isobel immediately takes Rosa’s hand when they reach it, looks at Liz and says, “I’m ordering you to defend me with your life while I’m in there.”

Liz has already taken up a defensive position between them and the entertance. “Stop wasting time, Isobel! Max can die, Noah can’t.”

“Okay, okay. Here I go.” She takes a deep breath before her face goes blank and distant.

Liz watches Max slam into the doorway a moment later, tossed there by an invisible blast of energy. The pollen has worn off. Liz starts to run toward him when that electric hum fills the room again, this time building until Max is hurling a bolt of lightning at Noah. That’s new.

From behind her she hears, “Liz?” She freezes. That isn’t Isobel’s voice, but it’s a familiar one. It’s a voice she hasn’t heard since—

“Rosa!” Liz whirls, but Rosa still sleeps upon the table. Beside her stands Isobel, face still blank but more alert than it was moments ago. 

“Liz,” she says, except it’s Rosa’s voice, unmistakable, coming from her mouth. It takes a moment for Liz to realize what has happened. She is speaking  _ through _ Isobel, through the mindscape. 

Elation, hope and longing rush through her and without thought she wraps Isobel into a fierce hug. The fit is all wrong. Isobel’s taller frame doesn’t fill her arms the way she remembers Rosa doing, but there are still tears in her eyes as Isobel’s arms come up to wrap around her, holding just as tightly as her sister used to. And it’s Rosa’s voice in her ear saying, “Don’t be afraid. I’m here, okay? I’m here. It’s going to be okay.” 

Rosa. After a decade of sorrow and loss, grief and heartbreak, her older sister is holding her once more. Liz squeezes her tight, unwilling to let go, but the sounds of Max and Noah fighting behind her invade the moment, reminding her that they don’t have time. There will be time later, she tells herself. They need to break the spell. She pulls away, but keeps not-Isobel-but-Rosa in her arms, willing only to part with her that far. 

“Rosa! Rosa, you need to tell me how to save you. Maria said you would know how. How do I break the curse?”

She barely has a chance to register the pain and heartbreak forming on not-Isobel’s face before she’s being pulled back into her arms. “It’ll be okay, Liz. You have to trust me. It’ll be okay.”

Dread pools in her stomach, bone deep. The seed of fear planted in her long ago burgeoning. “Rosa?” She has to struggle a bit to pull away this time, to look directly at the sadness etched across not-Isobel’s face. “Rosa. How do I save you?” Even before Rosa begins to shake her head, the foreboding in her stomach has moved up to Liz’s heart, holding it in a vice-like grip. “How do I save you? Rosa!” 

Liz knows. Even before Rosa speaks, she knows, but she doesn’t want to acknowledge the fear in her gut, her body weak from the mere idea. Not after all this time. “You have to let me go, Liz. You have to let me go.” 

“No! No, that’s not the answer!” she cried, shaking not-Isobel. “That can’t be the answer. Maria said you would know how to break the curse. She said I would break the curse. Rosa, tell me. How do I do it? How do I break the curse?” Her eyes fill with tears, the vice around her heart clenching tighter, and Liz’s hands do the same, grip tightening on not-Isobel’s arms. 

“We’re linked, Liz. Noah’s been drawing power from me for the last ten years. You won’t be able to defeat him as long as the connection exists. You have to sever the link.” 

“No!” Liz’s legs give out beneath her. Only her desperate grip and the arms around her hold her up as she begins to sob against not-Isobel’s chest. “No no no no. There has to be another way. There’s another way! I can save you. I promised Papi I would save you.” 

“You  _ are  _ saving me, Liz. Trust me.” Liz hears the tears in Rosa’s voice, and she clings tighter. Distantly, she thinks she hears Max call her name, but it’s lost in the clash of swords and the crackle of lightning. A horrific reminder of what’s at stake, one she wants to reject. “Let me go, Liz. It’ll be okay. I promise it will be okay. You can do this. Trust me.” 

She feels as if there is no strength left in her body. Grief chokes her, every breath a struggle. She is drowning, every hard fought breath sending waves of anguish throughout her body. Her tears are near blinding, but even still, she sees Max flying through the air again, his body hitting the wall this time with a sickening thud. He hit Noah with an answering bolt of lightning, but it’s weak. He’s losing. They are losing. 

Rosa’s still talking to her. “Trust me, Liz. It’ll be okay. I’ll be okay. You can do this. Sever the link. Stop him.” Liz’s whole body is numb. Blackness closes in on the edges of her vision. It feels as though it is someone else who reaches for her dagger. It  _ is  _ someone else turning her body so she’s facing Rosa’s body laying prone upon the table. Still asleep, motionless except for the gentle rise and fall of breath, the same as she’s been for the last decade. Exactly the same. No sign of age or growth, no wasting away, no change whatsoever. Frozen. Stuck. Trapped. Whatever life she would have lived stolen from her to empower a monster in the guise of a man. Distantly, she hears herself say, “I love you, Rosa,” and Rosa’s echoing reply, “I love you too, Liz. It’ll be okay.” 

She only knows her dagger has met its mark when she hears Noah’s bellow his rage, is only vaguely aware of Isobel collapsing beside her. Then an invisible wave of force hits her square in the chest, slamming her back to sprawl on the ground several feet away from the table. 

Noah runs to Rosa, enraged and desperate. As he pulls the bloodless dagger from her body, Liz screams at him, “Don’t touch her!” 

But Max is already advancing, having seen the opportunity Liz left, and Noah has only enough time to turn to face him before Max plunges Liz’s sword deep into his chest. 

Liz goes limp as she watches Noah crumble. Then her eyes slide closed. Her next stuttering breath fills her lungs for what feels like the first time in hours, its exhale expelling tension, leaving her feeling as if she is but one giant bruise, tender to the slightest movement, including the frantic beating of her own heart. Her chest  _ aches _ , but there’s a spreading numbness. She’s grateful for it, knowing when it passes, a decade’s worth of grief and failure and loss will assault her. She’s certain it will kill her when it comes. 

Max grunts in pain and stumbles, and her eyes fly open to see what’s wrong. What she sees is him on his knees beside Noah’s body, hands clutched around the pommel of Liz’s dagger where it’s stuck into his gut. 

“Max!” Liz jerks to her feet to race to his side, catching the heavy slump of his body in her arms before lowering him gently to the ground. “Max, no! No, stay with me. Max, I need you to stay with me.” She presses her hands desperately against the wound, trying to apply pressure. But there’s too much blood already, her shaking hands are soon covered with it as they scrabble against him. It’s too late. She’s too late. He takes one last shuddering breath, and she feels it as the life leaves his body on the exhale, going still and limp. 

A wail fills the room. She’s clutching at him, screaming at him, slamming her fists against his body, demanding he wake up, and then she’s sobbing, sobbing, head against his still chest, nothing left but agony and grief and failure. She failed. She failed. She failed. 

She failed to save her sister. She failed to save her king. She failed to save the man she loves. Her duty. Her purpose. Her oath. Everything she’d sworn her life to. Everything she always wanted and denied herself. All lost in one quarter of an hour. She can’t breathe, she can’t breathe.

She doesn’t hear her name as it’s called, doesn’t realize someone else stands beside her until she feels the hand upon her shoulder. She looks up, startled—

Her very first thought is that she died. That the pain has killed her. She’s dead and Rosa is there to take her to the afterlife. But as Rosa kneels next to her and gathers her up in her arms, Liz feels the way her body aches and stings in every place where she’s cut and bruised and realizes this is real. She’s alive and this is real and Rosa is alive. 

_ Rosa is alive.  _

The arms holding her now are so familiar that for a moment it’s as if the last ten years never happened. She sinks into the feeling, sinks into her big sister’s arms, face buried in her neck, and cries. And cries. And cries. 

Eventually the tears run dry and Liz’s hands grip Rosa everywhere—her back, her arms, her face, reassuring herself that yes, it really is her and not some cruel trick. It’s Rosa, alive and in her arms. “How? How? I thought I’d—how?” 

Rosa smiles at her. Radiant. As it always was. Oh, how she’s missed that smile. “You did it, Liz. You severed the connection between me and Noah. Once we were no longer linked, the curse reversed itself.” Liz sits there, stunned, questions whirling about in her head but none settle enough to ask. Instead she studies Rosa’s face, marking every sign of life within it—her open, alert eyes, the movement of her brows and beauty marks, the shapes her lips make as she speaks, the sound of her voice.

“—let me heal him,” Rosa is saying, and it takes time for her to comprehend what she’s telling her. It’s only really her shock that allows Rosa to pull gently out of Liz's arms. 

Rosa bends over Max’s body, pulling out the dagger and dropping it beside her. Then she lays her hands over the wound. Tiny sparks of light begin to whirl around her hands, entering and exiting Max’s body, passing through it like water, at first centering on the wound, but growing rapidly until they encompass the entirety of his torso, lighting up the space around them in brilliant hues of red and blue and purple. 

Then almost as soon as it began, the lights contract again, following the movement of Rosa’s right hand to concentrate and settle over his heart. Max’s chest rises in a sudden inhale, deep and sharp, and as he exhales, Rosa sits back, the lights disappearing entirely. 

Max opens his eyes and looks up at Liz. She stares back at him, stunned. He’s alive.  _ Alive. _ In the span of less than an hour, she had lost everything and now here’s a second miracle staring up at her, a tender smile shaping his face. “Always knew you would save my life one day.” 

Her lips are upon his before she even thinks to do it, every denial and fear and longing fueling her kiss. After a delayed moment his lips respond in kind, pressing back against hers, and she’s leaping, flinging herself into the abyss. She doesn’t crash, having already been dashed upon the rocks below, left broken and bleeding, and now she’s flying, soaring, light and free and unshackled, perhaps for the very first time. 

Again it’s Rosa’s voice pulling her back into herself, bringing her floating joyfully back to the earth, feet gently touching down upon solid ground. Max’s face when she pulls back is a mixture of surprise and delight, but surprise overtakes it entirely when he seems to notice Rosa there beside her, having apparently not seen her before. A laugh bubbles out of Liz, and she pulls the two of them close to her, one arm wrapped awkwardly around each of them, holding them both tight. 

Beyond them, Isobel is beginning to stir, and Jesse’s forces still battle with their own in the castle above, but for just a moment more, she holds them both close to her, wanting to hear their breaths in her ear, feel the beating of their hearts against her chest as she breathes.

She breathes. 


	5. Chapter 5

The fog is gone. Or at least the oppressive blanket of deep gray is gone, leaving behind only the chromatic mist inherent to this place. These halls are familiar to her now. She’d learned to walk them in the endless sleep of her past life, traversing them over and over and over again until navigating them was as natural as breathing. 

There are also new passageways, ones she does not know. And old ones too, previously shut away and hidden from her. She often finds herself wandering the old forgotten corridors since her waking. There are precious memories there—intricate tapestries of love and light, interwoven with threads made of her sister’s smile, her father’s laugh, Maria’s melodic voice. But in those same hallways, monsters lurk—forgotten nightmares lying in wait for her to stumble upon, eager mouths ready to devour after being so long denied their prey. 

There was some safety in the gray. 

But now her visits are finite. When the waking world comes for her, many of those same demons are forced to lose their grip and relinquish her, slinking back into the shadows and hoping to find her there once more when next she visits. 

A few are strong enough to follow her to the waking world. Perennial foes from her life before, claws buried deep in the flesh of her mind. But though they follow her into the light to feed, there they find they must also do battle with the most fearsome of foes. 

Her younger sister will make a formidable queen one day. 

If she ever agrees to it. For though he claims her heart and shares her bed, King Maxwell has yet to convince Liz to stop scandalizing the court and marry him. Rosa knows it’s the crown, and all it represents, that delays her sister, not her feelings for the king, but she’s enjoying the spectacle of their affair too much to say anything. Well, she’s enjoying the spectacle that is the court’s reaction to their frequent trysts; catching her younger sister in a compromising position with the king proves to be a sight more horrifying than most she’s faced in her nightmares. 

But also when the court is whispering about Ser Liz’s and King Max’s indiscretions, they aren’t whispering about Rosa. 

Few people knew the true circumstances behind Jesse Manes’s failed attack on the castle the day she woke. Officially Noah was a casualty of the assault, and the grief-stricken Queen Isobel renounced her crown, ceding power back to her brother Max and going into seclusion—which for Isobel meant she did as she pleased, speaking only to those she liked while avoiding those she didn’t, and shirking any official duties she found distasteful. 

Jesse Manes had gone into hiding immediately afterward, having not led the attack himself. Distrustful as he was of Ophiuchus, he’d elected to only send a small group of men, who after their initial success infiltrating the castle were quickly routed once reinforcements had arrived. Unfortunately, interrogation of the survivors revealed nothing of his whereabouts, and they learned little else beyond the assailants having been ordered to ensure Alex’s death along with those of the royal family. Alex and Michael have been resolutely working to flush Jesse out since. 

Meanwhile, the kingdom grieved with their resigned queen and celebrated the return of their king. They also celebrated the valiant Ser Liz for her loyalty and feats of daring while rescuing her king, and despite her protestations, many looked forward to one day hearing word of upcoming nuptials. And while singing of her praises, they spoke of the attack and her role there. Whispering rumors. 

When speaking of the events of that day, some correctly surmised that Ophicuhus was in fact Noah and that he had indeed been killed by Ser Liz or King Max instead of by enemy combatants. Others whispered that Jesse Manes, himself, was the dark wizard, and had used his powers to spirit his men into the castle. And for a very few, Rosa’s sudden awakening on that very eve spoke the truth of her nature. 

But even the many who did not believe Rosa to be Ophiuchus whispered and speculated as to just what her connection was with him. Why had she been cursed? And why is it now that she’s awakened? 

The first of these questions, Rosa asks herself. She doesn’t remember much from the months before she slept—doesn’t even remember meeting Noah. She suspects those corridors of her mind are still locked away, hidden far from view, guarded by yet more monsters. She knows one day she will need to seek them out. But not yet. She is not ready yet. 

So she suffers the gossip, though Liz and the members of the royal inner circle do their best to minimize the speculation and rumor. Rosa and Arturo are given rooms in the castle, to be closer to Liz, her sister especially unwilling to be parted even so far away as their inn. Rosa does her best to be happy for the time with them, for her family’s sake. 

But despite Liz’s efforts, the distance of a decade leaves Rosa a stranger here in more ways than one. Beyond the whispers and the strangeness of being so out of time with the rest of her loved ones, Rosa’s newly discovered powers lack discipline, her training unfinished, and they are growing in strength. She knows she must soon break her sister’s heart and leave Roswell, in search of the one person who has the answers Rosa seeks. 

Until then, Rosa visits her in her dreams, or in the waking trances Maria is teaching her to enter. And when she does, she walks along the long memorized passageways, down the hallways ribboned with swirling colors, and enters the now familiar cavern of glittering light and color. 

There a young sits upon the ground and waits for her, looking up as Rosa walks in and smiles, calling out her usual greeting. “Hello, Sorceress.” 

Rosa smiles back at her. “Hello, Iris.” 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Lightning Heart/For the Cursed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28165458) by [christchex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/christchex/pseuds/christchex)




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